The Trinket
by LilyBaggins
Summary: Non-slash. Pure mindless fluff. A very wee Frodo causes quite a stir at Bag End one day . . .


FIC: THE TRINKET, Part 1/1  
  
Author: Lily Baggins  
  
RATING: G. Warning: Completely mindless fluff. One of those strange things that begs to be written at 2:00 in the morning.   
  
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. *No slash, no profanity, no sex.* Complete and utter fluff.   
  
Feedback: I love it.   
  
***  
  
Bilbo Baggins saw the one-pony cart pull up outside Bag End through his round window and clapped his hands in excitement. Yes, everything was ready, he thought to himself as he counted off on his fingers. The ham was glazed, the chicken and dumplings stewed, the celeried potatoes whipped, the yams brown-sugared, the blackberries cobblered . . . and that was barely the tip of the iceberg. There were cakes, cookies---and plenty of soft foods and treats to nourish and delight a growing hobbit toddler, as well.   
  
The guest room was made up with fresh linens and fresh-cut flowers---the flowers courtesy of Hamfast Gamgee---and Bilbo had managed to beg and borrow a small child's bed with a new feather mattress as well.   
  
Clucking his tongue, Bilbo ran out to greet his guests. Drogo and Primula Baggins dismounted from their cart and Primula gently set her small burden down upon the road. Once it became steady on its feet, the tiny dark-haired creature, wearing a one-piece short overall puffed out around the middle by thick cloth diapers, took one look at Bilbo with wide blue eyes and began waving its plump arms back and forth.   
  
"Bee-bo! Bee-bo!" Frodo yelled as his little wobbly legs started to make their way down the lane. Bilbo, laughing, knelt and stretched his arms out for the wiggling toddler, hoisting him up and hugging him as he greeted Primula and Drogo.   
  
"Frodo, my little lad!" Bilbo said as he chucked Frodo under the child's soft chin. "Last time I saw you, you were barely walking! Now look at you---running as fast as a deer."   
  
"Dee?" Frodo asked him, wrapping his arms about Bilbo's neck.   
  
"Come inside, come inside---get out of this awful heat," Bilbo urged as he ushered Drogo and Primula inside.   
  
"It's very nice of you, Bilbo, to let us stay with you once again," Drogo told him. "We've always much enjoyed the fair in Hobbiton. And this will be the first one Frodo has seen."  
  
"Yes, indeed," Bilbo said, grimacing a bit as he pried small hands out of his hair, "I have been so looking forward to it myself. Now, make yourself as comfortable as possible---my smial is your smial! First things first, you'll be wanting something to perk you up from the road, I'm sure. Are you hungry, Frodo?" he asked, bouncing the boy. "Frodo?"   
  
The little hobbit nodded and Bilbo chuckled. "All right then, we shall go into the kitchen and see what we find. Come, Drogo, Primula---the food is all ready."  
  
All four hobbits made their way to the kitchen with the anticipation that only hobbits can feel at the prospect of lunch.   
  
****  
  
Two hours later, all four hobbits were quite contentedly stuffed and sitting lazily around the sitting room. Bilbo and Drogo were smoking, Primula was working on her needlepoint as she talked about the latest gossip from Brandy Hall, and Frodo was sitting bow-legged on the rug looking at a bright child's picture book Bilbo had just presented him with---and trying to eat some fresh flowers. Bilbo immediately moved them out of the youngster's reach.   
  
"And you would not believe, Bilbo," Primula was going on, barely looking up from her work, "what your cousins cooked up for Grandfather---Frodo, sweetness, do *not* touch that pine cone---Bucklo's birthday party. It is going to be---no, Frodo, no---hands off now, baby---a splendid affair, you shall have to come up for it, and of course you can stay with us. . ."  
  
Bilbo exhaled on his pipe, feeling quite relaxed---until he noticed his map---the map he'd been working on for many years, featuring Smaug and the Lonely Mountain---in the tiny plump fists of one hobbit tot---and as he watched, horrified---one corner of the map made its way into the little pink mouth.   
  
"Frodo, my dear," said Bilbo, hastily jumping up. "No, my boy, that isn't a toy." He retrieved the map as gently as possible, noting that one corner was now quite wet. Ah well----it would dry.   
  
"Want!" Frodo wailed, his small face crinkling up.   
  
"Yes," Bilbo soothed as he scooped the fussing child up, "of course you do. But come sit with Bilbo here on the sofa---Bilbo has all sorts of candy and treats in his pockets." It was true---Bilbo did have some soft cookies suitable for toddler teeth hidden away---a special treat he'd made himself.   
  
At this Frodo's face lit up and the tears subsided, and he happily allowed himself to be settled comfortably snug on Bilbo's lap while the three adults continued their previous conversation.   
  
"Anyway," Primula went on, "rumor has it Bucklo has already begun to buy presents for this . . ."  
  
Bilbo listened, nodding, his mind absentmindedly registering what Primula was saying as Frodo wriggled in his arms, pulling on his imported-from-Gondor weskit buttons and fine shirt collar. Bilbo hugged the child closer to him, patting his plump little diapered rump and settling him to rest against his shoulder.   
  
In his haste to settle the toddler down, however, and his relative unfamiliarity with children, Bilbo had forgotten one very important thing hidden in his pockets---and he was quite oblivious when it was found, immediately, by small grasping fingers. As they pulled it out, Frodo's blue eyes became even larger---it was round and pretty. Pretty and gold. A round shiny gold thing---this must have been one of the toys Bilbo had gotten for him.   
  
And so Frodo promptly popped it into his mouth.   
  
"Bilbo," Drogo asked him, "are they holding the frog-jumping contest at the fair this year? Or the children's puppet show? I was thinking we could take Frodo while Primula catches the bake-off contest."   
  
"Ah, yes they are," said Bilbo. "That is a splendid idea---Frodo would enjoy that---wouldn't you, my boy?" he asked, his voice growing higher---as adults' voices often do when speaking to babies and children, and hobbits certainly no exception. "Yes, that's a good boy! And Bilbo will buy you a toy, too," he said as he pulled the child away from his shoulder and bounced him on his knee. "Won't you like that?"   
  
Unfortunately, at the moment of bounce, the shiny gold Ring in Frodo's mouth slid down his throat and became, quite unnoticed by Bilbo, lodged in the toddler's airway.   
  
"Well," Drogo was saying, "it sounds like a plan, then." He turned to Primula. "Dearest, weren't you also interested in . . ."  
  
Bilbo laid Frodo back against his chest and was listening contentedly---then he became aware that the previously wiggling-like-crazy tot had stilled in his arms, his head a dead weight on Bilbo's shoulder. Suddenly Bilbo heard high-pitched wheezing noises coming from the toddler---and he immediately thrust the child away from him. Frodo's tiny mouth was open as he struggled to breathe, his eyes were huge and glazed, and his face was bright red and going swiftly to purple.   
  
"Sweet Elbereth, he's choking!" Bilbo yelled out, beginning to panic. Immediately he willed himself to stay calm. He had faced Smaug, he had faced giant spiders, and he had faced Gollum---and none of it was so terrifying as what was happening now. But he willed himself stay calm. The same could not be said for Primula and Drogo. Primula had dropped her needlepoint at the sight of her gasping baby and was swiftly making her way toward Bilbo, while Drogo stood slack-jawed, his eyes frightened, as Bilbo took charge.   
  
"Don't get in my way," Bilbo ordered, and without a moment's hesitation he turned Frodo face down over one knee, supporting Frodo's face and neck with one hand while he used the heel of his other hand to firmly thump between the toddler's shoulder blades. The wheezing continued. Flipping Frodo over, Bilbo used his fingers to press between the little one's chest just under the breastbone, hoping to dislodge the item in the child's airway. It was not working---and Frodo's face was beginning to turn blue.   
  
Ignoring Primula's sobs, Bilbo turned Frodo back over his knee and hit his tiny back a bit harder---and was rewarded for his efforts. The toddler coughed and suddenly from his mouth popped the gold Ring, skittering across the tile floor to land at Drogo's feet. Unfortunately, however, part of Frodo's lunch came up, too---right on the floor and on Bilbo's leg, and the tot started bawling.   
  
"My poor baby, my poor baby," Primula soothed as she raced to lift the crying child from Bilbo's lap. Frodo's face had lost its blue hue and was now pinking up quite nicely. Drogo, too, comforted the boy, and Bilbo, watching the small family, wiped a shaking hand against his forehead and let out a deep breath.   
  
He felt like an utter idiot---how could he have forgotten the Ring was in his pocket?   
  
"Drogo, Primula, I am very sorry," he began, his voice weak, as he picked the Ring off the floor and dried it off on his handkerchief. He was thankful Frodo hadn't swallowed it---what would a magic Ring do to a youngster? What if Frodo had swallowed the Ring and turned invisible? Bilbo shuddered at the thought. "I can't imagine how I failed to remember my Ring was in my pocket!"   
  
"Oh Bilbo, it was an accident," Primula assured him. "Things such as this happen with small children---we'll just make sure we watch Frodo more carefully from now on---goodness knows his little hands are into everything."  
  
"Yes, yes, come now, let's get the child a drink and wash his face," Bilbo said, discarding his vest and all upper-body clothing items with pockets. "Let me take him, if you will."   
  
Recovered, his harrowing incident of a few moments earlier apparently forgotten, Frodo's eyes lit up as he stretched his plump arms out to Bilbo. "Bee-bo?"   
  
"Yes, my boy, come with Bee-bo." Settling his small charge on his hip, Bilbo carried Frodo to the kitchen, washing his plump cheeks with a wet towel and getting the toddler a small cup of milk. And shaking his head at the same time. He was glad, at the moment, that he was not a parent. So much responsibility. So much worry. If anything had happened to the small boy in his arms . . .   
  
"Bee-bo . . . want!" Frodo wailed in his ear. "Want toy back!"   
  
"No, no, my lad, you shall not have the toy back. It's a magic Ring---and too dangerous to be touched by little hands like yours. Maybe some day, when you're grown, I'll let you look at it. But now we'll get you another toy. All right? Hmmm? Now, drink your milk---that's it . . ."  
  
And with that, Bilbo patted the tiny wriggling bundle and carried him back out into the sitting room.   
  
*THE END* 


End file.
